


that one where dean makes a last request

by rei_c



Series: The Genderfluid(ity) 'Verse [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Demon Deals, Drinking, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, M/M, Magic, Sam Winchester is Not Amused, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6873160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't care what I get for my last meal," Dean says, "but I have one request."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(aka, nine weeks to go and dean wants to be sure of one thing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	that one where dean makes a last request

"Here's the thing," Dean says. He feels Sam tense up next to him, hates that he has to spoil the calm stillness they've been enjoying but he does have to. 

Dean finishes the last of his beer, tosses the empty bottle into the open cooler, slides closer to Sam. He can feel Sam looking at him but Dean keeps his chin tilted up, keeps his eyes on the stars. It's nice to have a clear night, for once, nice to be away from the cities with their noise and light pollution, nice to be out here in the middle of fucking nowhere sitting on the Impala's trunk and sharing a beer with his brother. 

Sam so rarely relaxes enough to sit back and enjoy life anymore. Dean -- well, Dean supposes he can't really blame Sam. If it was Sam's deal coming up in a couple months, Dean would probably be doing all the same things that Sam is: tossing and turning at night, getting bloodshot eyes from all the books, even giving that demonspawn bitch Ruby the chance to pour poison into his ears. 

"Okay," Sam says, the depth of his voice sending chills up and down Dean's spine. "What?" 

"I don't really care what I get for my last meal," Dean says. He means to go on but Sam's shaking his head, moving to stand up, and Dean wraps an arm around Sam's shoulders, holds Sam tight so Sam can't go. He hates to force Sam to do anything but Sam needs to listen this time, has to sit still long enough for Dean to get through this because he's finally worked up the nerve and he's not sure when that might happen again. 

As much as Sam doesn't want to think about the timer ticking away on Dean's soul, Dean's not so keen on remembering it either. 

"Sam, listen, okay? I don't -- I have one request," Dean says. Sam slips away; he's always been able to get away from Dean, no matter how tightly Dean clings. It says something about them, about their past, about their relationship, that Dean's always left grasping for Sam and Sam's always just out of reach. "Sam, would you just -- fucking -- sweetheart, _please_." 

That gets Sam to stop. Calling him -- or her -- 'sweetheart' usually does. 

Sam turns around, throws his arms wide, says, "What, Dean? _What_? You have _one fucking request_ before you go to hell? In my place? You have to -- shit, Dean, you have to know that you could ask me _anything_. You can -- we only have nine weeks. _You_ only have nine weeks, and I." 

"Stop," Dean says, and he's off the car as well, holding Sam's shoulders, practically shaking Sam to get him to listen. "Sam, just -- I know. You think I'm -- I _know_."

"What, then," Sam asks, all the wind taken out of his sails, his entire body a picture of abject dejection. 

Dean lets Sam go, takes a deep breath. "I want to know that you'll be as happy as you can be once I get -- once I'm gone." He waits until Sam's scoffed, doesn't make his brother meet his eyes as Dean says, "I want to go back to the witch and get the permanent elixir." Sam looks at him, eyes wide, and Dean nods. "I want to know that you're you -- really, actually, for-good _you_ \-- when I'm not around. That's all."

Sam stares at him, long seconds of silence that stretch out into minutes before Sam says, "Okay." 

Okay. Just like that. Dean's a little -- he hadn't been expecting that but something in him settles, calms, at the thought that he can at least give Sam this much. He may not be around for more than the next nine weeks but at least Sam will have this when he's gone.

"Good," Dean says. He takes a step back to give Sam space; something inside of him is gratified to see Sam sway forward, as if to follow Dean, as if to refuse the introduction of any more space between them. "We'll head out in the morning?" 

"Yeah," Sam says, and he still looks a little stunned. It's -- actually, it's sort of nice to see something other than desperation on Sam's face for once. 

Dean grins, pulls up every ounce of cockiness in his body, and leers at Sam, says, "One last time before your dick hits the road?" 

The punch he gets on the arm as Sam passes him, heading for the car, is entirely worth it when, a moment later, Sam's wadded-up shirt hits Dean square between the shoulder-blades.


End file.
